


Somewhere Between

by lforevermore



Series: Hail Mary [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, F/M, I took a lot of liberties here, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Recovery, Rescue, like a TON
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 23:00:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13258413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lforevermore/pseuds/lforevermore
Summary: Darcy tries to pick up the pieces of herself that her capture by HYDRA broke.





	Somewhere Between

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all I took so many artistic liberties here. I'm not even sure this makes sense.
> 
> Follow at inmywildernesswriting.tumblr.com

When they finally, finally get out – when the Avengers and SHIELD swoop in, when Bucky curls over her to shield her from the wreckage of her cell and the bullets flying through the air, when they finally emerge from the HYDRA bunker and into the shining light of a grey, dreary day – Darcy’s life is pretty much forever changed. It’s not that she’s had a traumatic experience (and for all of its strange comforts, it has been _traumatic_ ), and it’s not the way that Bucky refuses to let her go even when they’re able to stand, able to take in the fact that they’re free.

Darcy is five months pregnant.

She stands out among the debris, taking in what’s left of the bunker. SHIELD agents move around her, and the world seems as though it’s trying to crawl its way through molasses. Natasha and Clint are making their way over, and Darcy’s not sure how to process the fact that she’s actually seeing them, that she’s standing where there is grass and sky and air, and more than just drab gray walls.

Bucky is still holding her, tight and firm but gentle nonetheless, in a way that he hasn’t been able to be for roughly five months. Between them it’s been nothing but hushed words and promises where the camera couldn’t see, his hands rough on her skin, and distance, so much distance. She’d only gotten to see him in fleeting moments at first, longer as the months went on and she needed some kind of connection, but he hadn’t been able to be more than the Winter Soldier around her. She knows that he’s had to do horrible things, things that will haunt him, all in the name of keeping her safe.

“Darcy,” he says suddenly, even though she’s sure he’d been talking to Natasha. She blinks, and they’re all three watching her – Natasha and Clint are both wearing carefully blank expressions, but Bucky is looking at her like she’s tearing his heart out somehow. His hands come up to her cheeks, human thumb swiping at her cheekbone, and she realizes that she’s crying. “Doll, it’s okay.”

And once she’s started, she can’t stop. She clings to Bucky and cries, and cries, and cries, and he holds her and murmurs hushed words and promises, while Natasha and Clint look on. This time, at least, there is the peek of sunlight through overcast clouds, instead of the blinking red light of the camera.

After what seems like hours, Natasha speaks. “James,” she says, “she needs to be examined. You need to debrief with Steve.”

“No,” Darcy gasps through her tears, and clutches at Bucky a little tighter.

In the same moment, Bucky snarls out, “I’m not leaving her,” and his arms tighten around her as though he himself can shield her from the turning of the world and the passage of time simply by holding her tightly enough.

“James,” Natasha says, and her voice is gentle. “We don’t know everything they’ve done to her. She _needs_ to be seen by Helen, to make sure that she and… the _baby_ are okay. And you have to debrief with Steve so that this never happens again.”

After a long moment, Bucky nods – Darcy can feel it from where her face is buried in his chest. She lets out a sob and clings to him, even as his arms loosen from their hold around her. “Come on,” he says in a low voice, just for her. “Natasha is safe, doll. She’ll stay with you, and I’ll find you as soon as I can.”

Darcy finally nods in tearful agreement, and Bucky detangles himself from her. Natasha steps closer, hands held up like she’s waiting for permission, like Darcy is fragile – and Darcy supposes that she is, a little.

Maybe a lot.

Darcy gives another nod, this one directed at Natasha, and the arms that come around her are nothing like Bucky’s but comforting all the same, even as they lead her away from him.

“I’ll find you when I’m done,” Bucky says to her as they walk away, toward the Quinjet and Helen Cho. “I promise.”

 

Darcy doesn’t see Bucky for three days.

 

In that time, she’s declared completely physically healthy by Helen Cho, and referred to an OB/GYN that Helen promises is one of the best, as well as sent to a psychiatrist for an evaluation and a therapist to “help her come to terms with everything that has happened.”

On the first night, Darcy returns to her apartment at Stark Tower to find it exactly how she left it. Jane and Thor accompany her, and Jane picks up the place – launders the clothes Darcy had left in the floor, throws away the dishes in the sink, and cleans out the fridge – while Thor fills her in on inane things like what she’s missed on the Bachelor and Real Housewives.

There’s a knock at the door, and Darcy looks sharply at it, hopes rising, but it’s only Natasha that comes through. “Where is he?” Darcy says, voice practically pleading.

“They’re making sure he’s safe for you to be around,” Natasha replies, and sits down next to her on the couch, pulling her into a gentle hug. Thor pats her leg and goes to help Jane, leaving them to it.

Darcy has been without this for so long – these gentle touches that meant both everything and nothing at all. All she’s had has been Bucky’s rough hands, and the clinical touches of the HYDRA doctor who told her absolutely nothing, even when she demanded to know.

“He’s safe,” she says quietly. “I promise he’s safe.”

“I know that, and you know that.” Natasha pets her hair, grown longer now in her captivity. “But he’s not convinced just yet.”

Darcy cries again, and longs for Bucky.

 

The second day dawns, and Darcy is surprised to wake up and realize that she is, in fact, free. Jane is snoring softly beside her, and doesn’t wake when Darcy eases out of the bed. Thor and Natasha are gone from where they had camped out in the living room, but Darcy knows they’ll be back, if only to reassure themselves that Darcy is still there and whole in front of them.

She goes to the cabinet and searches for breakfast, digging through the stale boxes of cereal until her hand wraps around what she assumes is a box of instant oatmeal. Instead, what she pulls out are strawberry Pop Tarts, and she freezes for a moment before walking over to the trash and throwing them out.

After that, Darcy throws up in the sink, and decides to skip breakfast altogether.

Instead, she goes for a shower, and basks in the hot water that runs almost without end in the Tower. Her soaps and shampoo smell like _her_ , instead of the strange brand-less things she’d been forced to use in the HYDRA bunker. For the first time in five months, she smells like citrus, and her hair falls in curls and waves instead of in a tangled mess because no one had thought to give her conditioner.

She’s in a good mood until she goes to get dressed and realizes that nothing fits. Nothing at all, except for the clothes that she’d worn home, another reminder of everything that’s happened. For a moment, she hates the bump of her belly, and immediately feels guilty and smoothes a hand over it in detached apology.

Jane wakes up to Darcy sitting in her underwear and robe on the edge of the bed, crying quietly.

“Nothing fits,” Darcy manages to choke out. “I don’t want to wear those clothes again, ever. Everything’s different, and I just wanted to come home and forget but I _can’t_.”

“Oh, honey.” Jane hugs her – and Darcy may never get enough of hugs, ever again – and rubs circles on her back soothingly. “Everything _is_ different, but we’ll get used to it. We’ll get you new clothes.”

Tony blows in like a whirlwind an hour later with bags and bags of clothes, courtesy of Pepper. Even he hugs Darcy, in a way that’s almost paternal, even though he’s always flirted with her in the past. It had always been cheesy, over the top, but harmless – Darcy doesn’t know what to make of this new way that he drapes his arm around her, promising her that he’ll move her to a bigger suite, that he’ll provide whatever she needs for the nursery.

It’s almost too much, but Darcy’s gotten good at compartmentalizing. Tony leaves after a while, and the clothes fit. She spends the rest of the day cleaning out her cabinets, and studiously ignoring the rest of the clothes beyond what she’s wearing. Jane catches her up on world events, on her research, on what’s been going on in the Tower as they worked to find her and get her out.

“You’re quiet,” Jane remarks after an hour and a half of just Jane talking while Darcy shops online for foods that don’t make her want to have a panic attack.

Darcy shrugs. “I haven’t had anyone really to talk to in five months,” she says, and Jane goes quiet. “It’s not like the HYDRA guys were going to chat with me, and Bucky had to pretend to be the Soldier. For the first month, I sang to myself, but after that, it just seemed pointless.”

As she clicks on the box for Caesar Salad and goes to select the quantity, she glances over and realizes that Jane is staring at her, hand held over her mouth and tears leaking down her cheeks. Darcy puts down her tablet and reaches for her.

“I’m so sorry,” Jane says. “Oh, God, Darce, I’m so sorry we didn’t get there sooner.”

They cry at her kitchen table, and Darcy thinks that if she never cries again, it will be too soon.

 

On the third day, Darcy goes to her OB appointment alone. Jane and Natasha offer, but they’re not at all who Darcy wants. She pauses when she steps outside the door of her apartment, feeling as though people are going to come swooping out of nowhere to force her back inside. She pushes the panic down and takes another step toward the elevator.

The OB is using Helen’s team office, so Darcy doesn’t have to go far, which she’s thankful for. She only has to go up a few floors and she’s there, instead of having to brave the big, loud world outside. Darcy isn’t sure she can handle crowds – the idea of them causes her throat to tighten and her world to spin.

“Darcy,” Helen says when she gets there, and Darcy is so, so thankful that she’s there. “This is Dr. Walsh. She comes very highly recommended, and I know her personally. I trust her very much.”

Darcy takes the hand that Dr. Walsh puts out and tries to force a smile. Dr. Walsh looks nothing like the HYDRA doctor, which is a huge plus, and is very warm instead of cold and distant. She does the examination quickly, talking the entire time, and Darcy feels herself relaxing.

She’s comfortable by the time they bring the machines that Darcy really doesn’t understand out. She’s confessed to Dr. Walsh that she knows nothing about her pregnancy – HYDRA kept her in the dark about literally everything.

“I can show you something amazing,” Dr. Walsh says, and turns the screen of the ultrasound machine to face Darcy. There, on the screen, is a strange, peanut-shaped form, and Darcy realizes that she’s looking at a baby. _Her_ baby. “Would you like to know the gender?”

Darcy nods, unable to speak past the choked up lump in her throat.

“There,” Dr. Walsh points at the screen. “There’s an absence of little dangly parts. You’re having a girl.”

For the first time, it feels as though the bump of Darcy’s belly means something, feels as though she actually has a life growing inside her. She’s going to be a _mother_ , she’s going to bring a life into this world. For the first time, Darcy feels a blossom of love in her chest, feels warm like something good has come from all of this.

“Can I, uh,” she manages, though her throat is tight. “Can I get this on a DVD or something? I want Bucky to see this when he comes home.”

Dr. Walsh nods with a smile, but Helen looks at Darcy, confusion on her face.

“Sergeant Barnes was cleared to return early yesterday evening,” Helen says, and it’s like someone has doused Darcy with cold water.

 

When Darcy gets on the elevator, she doesn’t push the button for her floor, even though she knows Jane and Natasha are waiting. Instead she gets off two floors above her own, and storms down the hall. She lets herself into Bucky’s apartment, intent on giving him a piece of her mind. Darcy falters, though, when she finds him sitting up on the couch, bleary-eyed, rumpled, and confused like he hasn’t slept in months.

She supposes that he probably hasn’t slept any better than she has in five months, and closes the door softly behind her.

“Darcy? Shit, what time is it?” Bucky stumbles to his feet, rubbing his hand over his eyes like he can wipe his weariness away. “I just laid down for a minute, I was going to come find you –“

“It’s okay,” Darcy says, anger gone. Instead, the DVD in her hand seems to thrum with some kind of energy, and she’s dying for him to see it. “Here, I want to show you something.”

They sit on the couch, and load it up on Bucky’s laptop (which hasn’t been used in months and takes forever to start up). The choked inhale of breath when it starts is worth every angry feeling that Darcy has shed in the past few minutes, and the way that Bucky grabs at her hand to hold it tightly in his is like a breath of fresh air.

“Is that…” he breathes, and stops, like he’s unable to articulate the words. He looks at her, eyes wide and a little lost.

Darcy nods. “It’s a girl,” she says quietly, with the first real smile that she’s felt touch her lips in months.

This time, it’s Bucky who cries while Darcy holds him.

 

They move in together.

Jane voices her disapproval, but Darcy is happy – as happy as she can be, while still struggling with the fact that she can’t bring herself to go outside and can’t handle the smell of Yoohoos or strawberry Pop Tarts. It’s less disapproval, though, and more concern, Darcy reminds herself, because Jane is still holding onto that image of Darcy that is incredibly independent and unwaveringly strong.

The thing is, though, that Darcy and Bucky don’t want to be apart. Darcy feels bereft when she’s alone, sinks back into something that could be called a depression – once, he finds her crying because she’s convinced herself that none of this is real and she’s still back in that cell. When she’s around Bucky – the real Bucky, not Bucky pretending to be the Winter Soldier – she feels as though she can breathe. She’s spent months worrying about him, and he about her, the only lifeline that either of them had inside the bunker.

The therapist and the psychiatrist help. Darcy gets Thor to paint the nursery that Tony’s provided, and gets Bucky to put together the crib and the other furniture. When she’s in the nursery she feels like there’s a future there – like she isn’t stuck in some rut where she can’t even leave the Tower thanks to her own mind playing tricks on her.

Bucky and Darcy touch all the time, but they don’t fuck, and Darcy is okay with that for the time being. She’s not sure which one of them is holding back – maybe it’s the both of them, really, but she has all the intimacy she needs right now and sometimes even Bucky touching her is a little overwhelming.

There’s time to build something here, Darcy realizes one day. The world is waiting for her outside, and she can take her time healing before she decides to step into it again. The future is swiftly approaching her, and for the first time since standing among the wreckage of the bunker, she can literally feel time pick up again around her. Bucky is making dinner, and humming some song that Darcy doesn’t recognize, but he’s found some kind of peace as well.

She smoothes a hand over the bump of her belly. Nothing is perfect, after all – Darcy is still broken, Bucky still looks like he’s holding on by a single thread more days than not, but they are good.

They’re good.


End file.
